Maggot. “I’m just off, aunt,” said Ann Veronica. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. “Really, I do not know why I should have doubted it. Will you go? You'll be paid handsomely for your trouble.
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